


Ignite

by stray_space



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Future AU, M/M, i like to break akashi, in which furihata dies and akashi has to deal with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5976961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stray_space/pseuds/stray_space
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn't help but wish it had all been a bad dream that night.<br/>It wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ignite

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Trying to give up habits that linger when they are – were here.

 

When Akashi closed his eyes, he saw a sunlit garden in autumn, in it lingered shades of brown and golden, with laughter that filtered through, playing of a broken record.

As the slumber draws to an end and dry rays crack through half-closed eyelids, however, he blinks

 

and sees gray.

.

/

 

Kouki. Light.

Much like his name, there were radiance and warmth and endless energy that shone so so hard in the endless nights.

Much like his name, there was shine and kindness and breezes of comfort in midst of the brown gems of his eyes, and his love and care and constant interest in the grey, grey world _burns_.

Much like his name, Kouki shone. Is always shining.

Furihata Kouki, in his eyes, has always been blinding, glowing, taking away his solemn, leaving him breathless and stunned and wanting _more_.

.

When Akashi Seijuurou arrived home the evening after his light ignited in the midst of night in the home they shared at the edge of Tokyo, he breathed and found himself empty, the house voided of mumbles and wishes of a goodnight, the wall stilled as no sound or smell were there to be bounced off, the bed pristine and made and cold.

When Akashi sat down for his morning paper the next day, he waited for his coffee that never came.

.

/

 

 

.

Perhaps Furihata Kouki had never been perfect. (unlike what people had regarded of Akashi himself, unlike the network he was supposed to have, unlike what people had expected)

He had flaws:  stumbling over steps from the nervousness that dusted his cheeks hues of pink, brown locks sticking up in all directions that Seijuurou’s fingers could often be found stroking, irises that shied from hidden feelings and lies that Seijuurou loved and adored, callous hands with firm grips, even on bad days, even on worst days.

The yesterdays and the todays they had together had been bliss. The yesteryears that they once held had been a rocky trip that sometimes went too far down and yet would not be trade for anything, anything at all.

They once had a tomorrow.

Now, they do not. Not anymore.

.

Solace was once found in sizzles of oil and flips of pancakes. In half-finished breakfasts that laid forgotten near rings of coffee and dips of blankets when mornings came. Solace was found in his arms where the wrinkled him of business days nuzzled in his favorite source of warmth and radiance, in the silent smiles that rung through the hollows of white walls.

Now his “I’m home” dispersed to cashmere, into the space of which he once called home, and as he tore down yet another blue note stuck on the fridge in hasty penmanship of I love you still, water rose up in red irises and fists clenched.

He was happy then. And he could have been still happy now.

.

The dreamless nights of hugging empty air ceased when the glow of Kouki returned, deep in his mind. The summer that dazzled through as laughter echoed. The spring in the way smiles softened and wrinkles ceased and fingers entwined.

That night, Kouki had been there in his personal world of words, soothing his sleepiness with the cool tea on his desk, flattening the dog ears left behind by Seijuurou in the books that laid opened, yet to be finished and yet to be still.

That night, Kouki had been there with his glow, ever so dazzling, so much he went up in fire. And fall he did, never to rise from the ashes even as the light he was, the fire he held.

 

 

That night, Seijuurou’s time stopped in the brazen air of Kyoto, halted as he sat down on his seat of his flight.

**Fire in Tokyo. 19 died.**

_Fire in Tokyo. Furihata Kouki died._

Seijuurou woke up in cold breath, tightly held in hardened hands were the empty air next to him and panting and wishing it had been all but a bad bad dream.

It wasn’t.

He feels himself breaking inside.

**Author's Note:**

> And i come back to the world of angst yet once again with this tiny piece of writing i call a ficlet. I hope it had been a good one, please be welcome to burn it.


End file.
